


Don't Let Me Fall

by SapphireBlueJiyuu



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireBlueJiyuu/pseuds/SapphireBlueJiyuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of Ward x Simmons Drabbles and Ficlets. (Originals can be found on Tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Simmon’s fought it off at first. ‘ _Quite successfully too_ ,’ she thought wistfully. The lingering touches, the side glances, the way his eyes would follow her as though it were her shadow, the way he doesn’t mince his words with her (just like he doesn’t with anyone else) but his tone is just slightly softer. She fights it with logic and an adherence to the strict personnel code that would likely get her fired from her dream-job.

So, she simply ignores it and pretends she doesn’t notice him when he’s training in the gym next to the lab and he’s shirtless and his perfectly sculpted body is on display for her to feast her eyes on the sweat that glistens across his skin. Ignores the fact that when they are playing board games that she would happily get competitive just to see that spark he gets in his eyes when he’s faced with a challenge.

She especially ignores the fact that each time he comes into her lab to be stitched up, her heart would ache that he had to be the embodiment of a shield in order for them to be safe; he keeps them safe, so that they could keep the world safe. If just for another day.

And so they do the dance. Never anything blatant. With the way they would skirt around each other, purposefully disregarding the other without giving away their game, one would think that  _both_  of them were master spies (or, at least, very accomplished actors). But with an eclectic group such as team Coulson, it’s nearly impossible for anything to go unnoticed.

So when Coulson hands out the next assignment and it dictates for herself and Ward to go undercover as prospective buyers for a highly sensitive chemical virus, she could hardly help glancing over towards the man in question. The action felt foreign to her, as she had been fighting against doing the very thing she is participating in at that moment. If the assignment required partners, they would’ve been able to carry on as though they simply were Dr. Simmons and Agent Ward.

But the role required them to be lovers as well.

His cover – Brad Patton; a procurer of unique weapons for various terrorist groups around the world. Her’s was to show up as Trixie – Brad’s business partner and consort.

Ward didn’t say anything to her, his eyes boring into her as though he was rooting out what she was thinking simply by dismantling her with his gaze. She felt the heat creep up her neck and settled comfortably at her cheeks before she turned away from his intense stare.

Yes, it seemed as though this was going to require a little more than just acting as though the other did not exist it was necessary to engage them. If they were going to make this work, she’ll have to go for broke.

* * * * *

Ward forced himself to relax on the plush lounge chair at the night club in Los Angeles and not debated whether taking Simmons (an untrained operative into the field) was such a good idea. He felt especially antsy that night without a com in his ear. He had read the mark’s file and the guy normally never travels with less than three bodyguards and always requires them to do searches. Which might have been a walk in the park for Ward to take them out if things end up getting dicey but with him having to protect Simmons too, he wasn’t sure if the odds were looking good.

As he kept checking his watch and wondering why she was so late, the mark showed up (with six bodyguards). He was a portly man with a thick gray beard and a bald head.

“ _Bonsoir_ , Monsieur Patton,” He greeted him with a thick French accent and a chuckle, “Forgive me for my tardiness. I vill never take Figueroa on ze Friday night again.”

Ward stood up to shake the mark’s hand and was met by a large man giving him a pat down.

He gave an awkward chuckle before carefully saying around the lackey’s large biceps, “Live and learn, Mr. Pierre.”

“Agreed,” the mark laughed, nodding. “Are you alone tonight, Monsieur Patton? I vas told zat you had a business partner.”

Ward bit back a curse and shrugged, “I do… but I’m afraid she is running little-”

The words and every thought in Ward’s mind came to a screeching halt at the sight of the single most arresting woman in the entire city. He almost didn’t recognize her as she sauntered over towards the men gathered around, a sultry look in her large Bambi doe eyes… at least not until she nearly tripped over those ridiculously high heels that she must be suffering in. Ward had to bite back a smirk as he watched her internally berate herself before falling back into character.

“Speak of the devil…” he rasped out loud.

And devilish she looked indeed, in a tight, dark red number shorter than any dress he had ever seen her wear with a dangerously plunging neckline. She winked at one of the bodyguards (who was happily taking in the view just as Ward was) before she came to box him in, blocking their view of him.

Ward was about to ask what she was doing when she fitted her lips over his. They were tentative at first, reminding him of how nervous she was, so he played along with her, kissing back fervently, trusting that she knew what she was doing. The fresh scent of citrus and sea salt wafted through his nose as she leaned into him, sliding her fingers up his neck and into his hair.

Just as he was about to loose his focus of anything but that slight hint of peppermint on her tongue, he felt her shaking fingers slip his com into his ear, as she cradled the side of his head. Pulling back the moment it was in place, he could hardly hold back his small smile at the pretty blush that dusted her cheeks. He watched with great fascination as she dropped her gaze from him before she snap back into “Trixie”.

“Evening boys,” Jemma sheepishly greeted over her exposed shoulder, her voice a bit breathless, completely impressing Ward with her commitment to the role, “I hope I didn’t hold you up.”

“Mr. Pierre, my business partner, Trisha Atherton.”

Jemma rolled her eyes dramatically, “Oh, please darling, there’s no need to be so stuffy,” She purred, batting her lashes at the mark, “I insist you call me Trixie, Mr. Pierre.”

Pierre, who was stunned whether it was by Simmon’s beauty or entrance, only mumbled a faint “ _oui._ ”

“Lovely,” she drawled as she took a seat on the plush sofa next to Ward, pressing herself against his side. He instantly wrapped an arm possessively around her shoulder, pulling her to lean into the curve of his body.

What scared him even more than the fact that he was heavily out maned and out gunned was the fact that he didn’t care. His brain was trying to focus on what Pierre just said to Simmons but the feel of her silky shoulder beneath his fingers was becoming very distracting.

It wasn’t until they saw the briefcase that Ward was able to get his head back into the game.

* * * * *

Jemma was shaking uncontrollably; the men must have noticed it. Ward did for sure but Jemma was too preoccupied with not to fall into his lap in these preposterously high heels that Skye insisted she wore.

“It’s for the greater good!” She has argued gleefully. “Plus, they go great with that dress.”

_Ah, yes, this tiny strip of chiffon and nylon that Skye forced her to wear could hardly constitute as a dress._

Jemma tried to argue on behalf of her quickly fading dignity at how impractical it was for them to get away if the situation called for them to run but May chimed in that Trixie wouldn’t be thinking about running away; that she would only be concerned with how good she looked to her “business partner/lover and everybody else in that damn place.” Knowing that she lost this battle when the two had clearly tag-teamed her, she instead spent the better half of the car ride to the lounge pulling down the fabric, as though the movement would magically make the dress longer.

With a little help from May, Jemma was able to fit a small handgun into her wristlet. She had no intentions on using it herself nor did she think it would be an effective weapon in her inexperienced hands, but it was nice to have a small back up, even if it’ll likely only fire off five rounds. 

Jemma kept reminding herself as she walked up to the large door and smiled at the bouncer who promptly let her in, that she had a mission, and, for one evening, she was willing to put aside her dignity in order for them to identify and secure the item and then run and hide her head in the dirt from the shame of it all. 

Though, she had to admit that the look on Ward’s face was pretty priceless. Even in the dimly lit room, once she invaded his personal space, Jemma nearly melted at the sight of Ward’s eyes darkening with hunger as his gaze dipped down the front of the dress but she focused her attention on the only tricky part of that night. Coulson knew that the guards would search Ward for a wire and so Grant sent in blind and unarmed. Jemma’s objective was to slip his com into his ear without the men noticing and then they were to retrieve the briefcase when the exchange was made. Hopefully, with her backside to the rest of the group, she could keep their eyes on her ass long enough for her to slip the tiny com in place.

When the mark brought out the briefcase with the vials, Jemma picked one up and took a look at it before she turned to Ward and nodded once.

Unbeknownst to the patrons of the establishment, they were all occupying the single most dangerous building in the entire west coast of the country. At least it was the only one with a chemical bomb that could render the current population of the state (and every bordering state) dead in less than 10 minutes.

* * * * *

Ward’s breath tickled her ear when he leaned into whisper, “Don’t panic… let me make the exchange, then we go straight to ‘Plan C’.” Jemma giggled and caressed the side of his face when he pecked her on the cheek.

She pulled away then and ran through the plan in her head as rose from the sofa. ‘ _Go to the bar and wait for Ward to join her. And then they leave… with their bodies intact._ ’

“Trixie is going to order me another drink. Would you like anything else, Mr. Pierre?” Ward asked.

The rotund man looked slightly aghast. “Zat t’is hardly courteous to send ze lady off unattended. Jean, won’t you accompany  _mademoiselle_   _Trizie_  to ze bar?”

Ward watched as Jemma smiled sweetly at Jean who looked all too eager to be alone with her. Ward gritted his teeth and hoped that it wasn’t so obvious that he was seething beneath his cool demeanor.

Once Jemma and Jean were out of sight, the pit in Ward’s stomach dropped open but he ignored his innate desire to run after them, turning his attention to the mark in front of him.

“Now, Mr. Pierre. Let’s talk price.”

* * * * *

She didn’t mean to show her hand so soon but the jerk just had to go and touch her.

“I’m not sure what kind of impression I was giving off,” she said as she took Ward’s drink from the bartender before she turned to the hulking Frenchmen, “but the attention is not wanted by you. My partner may be the one with the muscles but I’m the one with the artillery pointed at your boys down here,” She watched as his eyes trailed down to where she had the small handgun pointed at his crotch and smiled sweetly, “So, if you would be so kind as to remove your hand off my arse, I won’t have to see if you’ll ever be able to pitch that tent in your trousers again once I put a few bullets through it.”

She gave him a satisfied smirk and turned around to see Ward walking towards her. “Oh, Brad darling. We’re leaving so soon?” Jemma asked as she watched his eyes send a murderous glare at the lackey behind her. He must have witnessed what had just passed but she had gotten the situation miraculously under control.

“Yeah, looks like we have some  _friends_  to call.” He said just loud enough for the guard behind her to hear and then promptly took the drink from her hand and knocked it back. He took her hand in his free one (the other was occupied with the briefcase) and placed the glass on the counter before muttering under his breath, “Don’t run, just lean into me.” He whispered. Jemma immediately wound her arms around Ward’s waist and tried to match his long strides. She didn’t want to hope that tonight actually went without incident, that her very first field mission was actually a success.

It wasn’t until the black SUV came to pick them up did Jemma actually released the breath she wasn’t aware that she was holding.

* * * * *

“Well, that was uneventful.” Skye grumbled as they all passed around bottles of beer back on the plane.

“Despite your preconceived notions of how these operations go down, most of our missions we try to come out as unscathed as possible. We were  _lucky_  it went uneventfully.” May chided.

Skye wrinkled her nose, “Yeah, I know… but I was hoping for Jemma’s first undercover assignment to be filled with excitement and badassery.”

Jemma nervously chuckled, “Uhm, I am more than pleased that this night was completed without a hitch. Except for maybe that dress.” She glared at Skye once again. “I swear when I get the chance, I will burn this wretched thing-”

“No!” Grant exclaimed. Everyone in the living area turned to give him varying degrees of shock, while Jemma’s face was outright bright red. “I’m just saying that… it would be… highly presumptuous to think that you would find an outfit as…  _e-effective_  as this one.” He stammered, not meeting anyone’s accusatory gaze.

Skye smirked at that and turned on Jemma, wiggling her eyebrows at the young doctor. “Ha! I told you it was a keeper.”


	2. The Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This picture](http://writeworld.tumblr.com/post/83720574910/writers-block-a-picture-says-a-thousand-words) inspired this ficlet. Enjoy.

She was standing in the middle of a grassy hillside, as though she had just appeared there. Looking up at the sky, Jemma knew she was far, far away from the city lights that normally would be too bright to see the stars above. She stood beneath that open sky and felt as though the whole of universe was shining down on her, as though these dead stars had traveled billions and billions of light years in order for her gaze upon them on this very night.

Looking back down to the earth beneath her, she turned around and saw in the valley below hundreds of glass covers stood intermittently scattered across the ground. Inside of them, each held a single, levitating rose. The scene was breathtaking. The roses seemed to shimmer and sparkle as she watched the moonlight glisten across the windy hilltop, the grass gleaming to life.

‘ _How was it doing that?_ ' She wondered excitedly as she wanted to bring a sample of it back to her lab.

In the distance, on the far end of the grassy hill stood a man in front of one of the containers. The armor and the kite like shield on his back, signaled to her that he was a warrior of some sort. ‘ _He looks strong_ ,’ Jemma noted as she took in his physique. ‘ _But he looks defeated as well_.’ she ascertained from his hunched shoulders and how his head bowed forward. Jemma watched him as he knelt down to grasped the knob atop the glass cover and placed it aside. She waited to see what he was going to do when a deep voice whispered into her ear, “You can’t save him. He has a debt to pay.”

Jemma gasped awake and found herself in the Skye’s room in the bunker shivering, Skye was nowhere to be found but she was sure that the young hacker was probably off drinking again.

They were doing a lot of that lately.

The laptop on the table was playing the main screen title for the “Beauty and Beast” DVD that Skye suggested they watch last night.They needed the distraction. And even though, they were all stressed and tired and heartbroken about Ward’s betrayal, the rest of the team couldn’t understand how deep his betrayal had meant to her. He was her safety net. All the lies that he had told them, that he had told  _her_ , stung like a hundred thorns were piercing into her heart each time she thought of him.

And everything reminded her of him. That’s what happens when you spend the better part of nearly a year in an enclosed space with someone. It was the little things that you’ve come to expect, so when they aren’t there, you tend to feel off kilter.

She knew there was no way that things would ever go back to normal because despite what secrets the team had kept from each other, this one was unforgivable. This was where the line was drawn.

“ _He has a debt to pay._ ” That voice… she knew who it had belonged to. She knew it as the voice of comfort. The voice of the man who had protected her, made sure she was alive and safe. Who risked his life for her, never asking for thanks or praise for his efforts.

‘ _Ward… come back to us._ ' Jemma thought she had cried her fill, that her tear ducts had nothing left, but the tears still dripped down onto her cold hand, ' _It won’t be the same but we need you. We’ll make it work. Somehow._ ’

Jemma heard the music start up again on the home screen. She winced when she saw the floating rose in the glass case and promptly shut the computer. She scowled herself for such childish, unrealistic thoughts.

She knew better than to believe in fairytales. Her prince was not a beast that needed saving… he was just a beast.  


	3. Short (short!) stories

_Help! My parachute became my noose -_

 

* * *

 

Time will wash away my memories of you.  
As it flows by me without a place to stop,  
certain feelings like warmth

and Pᴀɪɴ 

will surely dissipate into dreams  
or haunt me like the ghost of what could have been. 


	4. Not Cut Out For This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I'm not cut out for this.” Ward x Simmons.

Ward knocked on the door of the pod, startling Simmons who was unpacking from a mission that went sideways. 

"How you feeling?" He asked, knowing full well, she was  _not_  doing well.

Her hands were shaking almost uncontrollably and her face looked pale. And the scary part was that, she had no clue.

“I’m fine. I’m really tired and would like to turn in for the night-  _oh bugger_!” she cursed just as her unstable hands dropped a full bottle of water all over the floor. Ward knelt forward and picked up the slowly emptying plastic bottle of water before placing it onto the nightstand. Jemma had slumped onto her bed, her head was tucked between her legs, and she was going through a few breathing exercises that May had taught her to calm her nerves.

"Simmons… the target was compromised. You did what you had to do to eliminate the threat. It was purely in self defense." Ward said evenly. When he realized that she was probably replaying the exact moment of “elimination”, he knew that she probably going to have an all out panic attack, so he tried to minimize the damage as quickly as possible by awkwardly but gently placed a hand on each of her shoulders and turned her toward him.

"Simmons, look at me… _Jemma_. Look at me.”

When she finally looked up into his eyes, they were different. They were the eyes of someone how had seen death for the first time… a death that was dealt by their hands.

Ward took a deep breath and then reached forward to lightly cover her hand with his. “I think that as team members…” he hesitated for a moment, struggling to find the right words before continuing, “I believe that there should always be this level of trust between team members. So, I will not lie to you. Coulson or May would probably soften the blow (hell, I’m sure that if Coulson had it his way, you will never be dispatched as a field agent again) but, it goes without saying that we are not  _like_  any other team. Our missions are wildly unpredictable so we must be prepared for anything that comes our way. That being said, your first kill is always the hardest.” His eyes were fixated on her face which began to shuffle through a myriad of emotions; anywhere from fear to guilt to, finally, reluctant acceptance.

"I understand, Agent Ward. Thank you fo-"

"I’m not great at giving pep talk or comfort but I am here to listen to you." She smiled at that and Ward felt like he was on the right track with this whole team bonding thing, "And possibly talk you down from doing something stupid-"

"Something  _stupid_? I have two PHDs and have been, on multiple accounts, referred to as a genius. What would you constitute as stu-“

"Like maybe quitting S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Ward replied, his eyes missed nothing as he took in every emotion that passed across her face. "Probably wondering how I figured it out…"

"Because you’re a gold star collecting super special specialist." She grumbled, rolling her eyes. 

He nearly cracked a smirk at that, but recovered quickly, “Because it was my first kill that had me… re-evaluating my choices. Taking stock of why I am doing what I’m doing.” He allowed the silence to fall over them for a moment before he confessed, “I wish… I wish I had had someone there who helped me through the next few months after that initial kill. Because trust me, that death will hang over you for a very long time. And when you least expect it, it will come back and remind you of what you’ve done.” 

"Why?"

"Why does it come back?"

Jemma shook her head, “Why do you do what you do?”

Ward was silent for moment, his face completely blank, as though he was a thousand miles away. “To protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

His eyes returned to the present and saw Jemma take a shaky breath, a single tear rolling down her porcelain cheeks. “Ward… I don’t… I don’t think I am cut out for this.”

His chuckle made her snap her gaze up to his. His smile was genuine as he assured her, “You’re made of tougher stuff than you think.” Ward gave her clasped hands a tiny squeeze before he stepped back. “If you aren’t cut out for this, no one is.”

_*** * * * * _ *** * * * * _ *** * ***_**_** _

_**11 months later** _

_*** * * * * _ *** * * * * _ *** * ***_**_** _

They had Ward in custody after the breach of a major Hydra facility (with the help of one supposedly dead Nick Fury). He was transported as a Priority One criminal to a secret S.H.I.E.L.D. base in the middle of the Pacific Ocean (approximately to 5 hours out from Honolulu). No one was allowed to see him except Coulson and May. 

He didn’t try to escape but he wasn’t talking either. And after days of “persuasion” from the Calvary herself, if he wasn’t going to give anything up, then he wasn’t going to give anything up. 

After one particularly brutal round of “talks”, Skye was monitoring the interrogation when Jemma walked in asking if she wanted a sandwich because she was making some for everyone and there she saw him. Bruised, bleeding, and barely conscious on the large screen. Skye minimized the live feed but it wasn’t fast enough. 

She then proceeds to run after Jemma who made a beeline for Coulson’s office. 

Entering the room, she immediately got to her point. “Sir. I believe that… the prisoner should receive medical treatment for his wounds.”

Skye’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. “What-?”

She didn’t wait for Coulson to reject her idea when Jemma dove right into her argument. “Sir, the subject is less useful to us if he receives permanent brain damage due to a concussion.” 

"Okay."

"Sir please listen to reason. The prisoner is- wait, what?" Jemma’s verbal crusade came to a screeching halt at Coulson’s immediate approval.

Skye jumped in then, “No, Jemma, trust me, you aren’t ready to face him again. He will end up manipulating you into doing something you don’t want t-“

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Skye." Jemma muttered.

Skye rolled her eyes. “You know what I am trying to say.”

"That I’m not as effective as a field agent as you and May and that I am too weak against the whims of the man who I-?"

"Because I was there with him and I  _know_  what it feels like when Ward uses his “specially crafted weapons” against you! Hand picked to deliver the greatest blow to you mentally and emotionally!” She screamed. “And I don’t want him to do that to you… not after everything that you had to go through with Fitz. You don’t deserve this.”

Jemma was shocked at how adamant Skye was fighting against the issue and she was touched, but she knew that she was the only agent on-site that knows her ways around medical equipment. 

Coulson states so right after the thought formed in her mind. Jemma knew what she had to do and she was willing to put aside her personal fears and emotions in-order to see that the mission is complete.

"When do we start, sir?"

_*** * * * * _ *** * * * * _ *** * ***_**_** _

_**11 hours later** _

_*** * * * * _ *** * * * * _ *** * ***_**_** _

Initial contact with the prisoner was met with some hostility but Simmons was able to contain the situation by stabbing a muscle relaxant straight into his neck. Ward finally calmed down enough for her to patch him up and said that she will be back to monitor him later on. 

Tripp accompanied her each time, just to make sure Ward didn’t try anything funny again. But he didn’t do anything but lock his eyes on the biochemist, shadowing her every move with his gaze. 

Later that night, right before she was about to crawl into bed, she realized that she completely forgot to give Ward his pain medication.

She debated about waking Tripp who was probably fast asleep (as was the rest of the compound). 

There was a small part of her that wanted  _him_  to writhe in pain for the entire night. But the larger part of her (the part of her conscious that couldn’t willingly inflict pain on someone if she had the ability to prevent it) made her walk back towards the lab before making the short trek to the confinement box. 

Upon her arrival, Ward was completely still on floor atop the shield issued blanket, but the sheen of sweat on his face did not look good. 

Knocking on the door loudly to alert him awake, Jemma entered with the pill and a cup of water in her hand. He was already on his feet awkwardly (seeing as his ankles and wrists were cuffed) but he relaxed visibly at the sight of Jemma.

This worried her greatly. Did he think he could take her on, a healthy (albeit slightly sleepy) agent in his condition? He must have a very high tolerance for pain because he was not looking good. 

"I’m just here to drop off the pain meds." Placing the items on the table, she turned to leave when Ward finally spoke. 

"How are you?" 

Jemma had to close her eyes and count to five very slowly to contain the rage that she felt bubbling up beneath the surface. Facing away from him, because it was taking every ounce of her boundless amount of self control not to launch herself at him and inflict more pain onto him.

Instead she calmly spoke. “You dropped me and Fitz in the middle of the bloody ocean. How do you think I feel?”

"I was never worried about you, Jemma." 

It was his soft and loving tone that made her spin around on her heels and glare daggers at him from where she stood. “We could have died on impact! We could have suffocated in that container!”

Grant’s smile could have been described as serene at the mention of the metal container and the look gave her whiplash. “I knew your best bet for staying alive was off that plane.” 

The conviction in his voice sent a chill down Jemma’s spine. “You know you running into that container just made it easier for me to make the decision.” He reached for something under the table and, before she knew it, Ward slid a small handgun across the metal table.

"I took it off of Tripp when I was " _attacking_ " you. He really does loose himself around you, doesn’t he?" Ward asked placidly, though Jemma caught the undercurrent of something else in his tone. Something akin to rage.

She attributed that to getting caught by S.H.I.E.LD. but she didn’t get a chance to process it when she immediately picked up the gun and pointed it at Ward. He didn’t throw his hands up defensively nor did he begin to plead for her to put the gun back down. Instead, he simply stared down the barrel of the gun and straight into Simmon’s doe brown eyes. 

"How did you…? Ward… what are you trying to do? Do you think by steal a weapon and then giving it to me will somehow regain my trust? Well, I am sorry to disappoint you but you’ve burn that bridge to a smoldering pile of ash."

Ward weakly sighed, wincing slightly at the sore muscles of his dislocated shoulder and chest.  ”Jemma… you need to listen to me very carefully.”

"No. You don’t get to tell me what to do." Jemma spat out harshly. "Not after what you did to Fitz!" She felt the tears coming but she pushed them back down and did her best to glare at the traitor in front of her. 

"Jemma, I need you to shoot me."

Jemma wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. The fatigue must have truly worn her because she was so sure he said for her to shoot him…

"What? No, I am not going to  _shoot_  you, Ward. Don’t be absurd! I am not a cold blooded killer like you!” Jemma hissed at him, flashes of Fitz in a coma on a hospital bed made her unconsciously release the safety. 

"Good… you remembered where the safety was." Grant smiled softly. "Now, just aim and pull the trigger. You will be a hero. _Jemma Simmons, the S.H.I.E.LD. agent that took out Grant Ward the Hydra mole._  Let me do this for you.” 

“ _What_?  _Why_  would you  _want_  me to kill you?” she demanded. “This is probably another one of your tricks. Another one of your lies. Just another plan for Hydra!” She slowly backed away towards the door and vaguely wondered why no one was monitoring the room. Why this place wasn’t already being broken down. 

Ward was quiet for a moment. “They will come after you eventually. As long as I am alive, they will use every leverage and collateral they have to get me back because unfortunately I am the best at what I do.”

"Who?!"

"Hydra." Ward replied. "Sooner or later, they are going to find out about us… and you don’t want to know what they do to the people who have any connection with their sleeper agents."

Jemma stared into the eyes of the man she thought she loved. The man who asked her out to a makeshift date on the Bus complete with dinner and a movie. The man she had trusted with every fiber of her being. The man who had made her a promise. 

"No." 

"No? Damnit Jemma, you have no idea who you are messing with. I have something they want and they will not stop until they get it."

"What is it?"

"Hydra Intel. It’s not much but it’s more than what you have right now. I’ve hidden a mini microchip in my hand. You can pull it off of me once I’m dead and the tracker in my body is deactivated. But as much as I want to help SHIELD and begin to atone for my sins, I would gladly risk the info if it meant saving you. So please, Jemma. Shoot me. It  _has_ to be you!”

"Ward…" Jemma cried, tears streaming down her face, obscuring her vision of the man in front of her, "Grant… please don’t make me do this."

"I know I don’t deserve your trust (let alone your love) but in everything that I did for Garrett and everything I lied about to the team-"

"Don’t-" she choked out. 

"I never lied about loving you." Ward gritted out, "Sooner or later, the Hydra agents will analyze my behavior on the Bus and they will question why I didn’t immediately eliminate you and Fitz. If you do this…" He held back for a second, as if he didn’t want to wish was he was about to say would be true, "Hydra will be off your scent. Please… let me do this for you. I can’t protect you out there when I’m stuck in here."

The tears came now on their own accord because if she had a say in it, Jemma would have never want to feel vulnerable in front of Grant Ward again. “I  _can’t_  do this, Ward! I can’t… I…” Her arms were lowering the gun. 

"You need to kill me, Jemma. What time is it? 1… maybe 2 in the morning? Yeah, Tripp isn’t asleep yet. Knowing him he’s probably just got done doing his final perimeter check… but he’ll be heading up to his bunk soon. And when he does, he is going to realize that his side piece is gone. If you do not do this  _now_ , there will be no where on Earth where you can hide from Hydra. They will find you and torture you and you will be begging for death long before they give it to you. So,  _do it, damnit!_ ”

Jemma could hear it then: voices and heavy footfalls echoing off the walls outside the cell box. All she had to do was wait it out. They would be there soon and she would never have to come back to let this man toy with her emotions ever again. She just had to bide her time a little longer.

"No!" She screamed. There were voices behind the door now. And insistent pounding on the door. Any second now. "No, Grant… I’m not _… cut out for this_.”

"Damnit, Jemma! Fuck… I didn’t want to do this!" Jemma’s eyes went wide when Ward got up and pulled something from his pocket. "If you do not shoot me  _right now_ I will detonate this bomb and everything within a 20 foot radius will be gone!” His eyes were crazed as the pounding on the door became insistent. “You have 5 seconds, Jemma. Five… four… three… two…” The door flew open, slamming against the wall. She jumped at the sound of a gun going off when Agent Koenig and Coulson came pouring into the room, guns aloft. 

It took her a second for her to realize what had happened. Her eyes slowly turned back to followed the man who was sinking to the floor, a dark stain began to coat through his grey sweater. She launched herself forward trying to catch - _the falling detonator? Ward himself? she’s still not sure_  - but it was useless. 

In retrospect, it should have taken her half a second to realize there was no way he could have smuggled a small explosive into the compound.

From Ward’s hand, a single diamond ring fell to the floor and rolled a few feet to stop next to his heavy body. 


	5. The Road Not Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fork-In-The-Road AU

Ward thought of about that day often.

How things could have gone a different way. How with the press of a button, that container would have dropped into the dark depths of the waters below leaving Fitz and Simmons in the middle of Atlantic Ocean to fend for themselves. The light from their eyes diminishing as their desperation would be at its height. He could hear their screams echoing in his head and wonder if those would now accompany the ones he collected as a child; constant soundtracks that would play in the dead of night when he couldn’t sleep. 

How long would he have had to live with the guilt? How deep would their hatred for him run? How long would it last for? 

Ward was reminded then of a torturous battle of Hungry Hungry Hippos between himself and Simmons - which he may or may not have cheated on - and her vengeance had lasted an obscene amount of time. Yes, he thinks that something like betraying them when they were clearly giving him a way out would likely not have gone well in his favor. 

Things weren’t exactly the same now, but he never expected it to be. At least he didn’t have to go at this alone; he had two supporters who were rooting for him in his corner. Their unwavering faith was what made him believe that there was truly hope for redemption after all. That even though he made some mistakes along the way, it didn’t mean he was a lost cause. 

Jemma came through the door, steaming cup of tea in her hand, and sat on the arm of his chair, running her clipped nails through his short hair which she knew would send shivers down his spine. She giggled as he jumped out of his seat when her fingers brushed against the back of his ear.

It was that smile which he got to see each day from her, even from his cell, made him so grateful he made a different call that day. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Fantasy

“You requested to see me, Ser Philip?”

Ser Philip Coulson of the King’s Royal Guard looked up from the letter in his hand and saw a tall, muscular knight stand at the threshold of his solar, wearing a very serious look on his young features. ‘ _Ah_ ,’ he thought as he carefully tucked the letter into the pocket of his trousers, ‘ _this must be Ser Grant Ward…’_

“Yes, please, come in.” He motioned for the younger knight to enter the room. “I understand that you’ve recently returned to the city from a ranging mission over seas. I trust your travels were fruitful.”

Ser Grant nodded stiffly, “They were. Thank you, ser.”

Ser Philip grinned enigmatically to himself before placing a scroll in front of the young knight, “Good. I realize that you have just gotten home and that you are likely tired but I have a mission for you that is in need of being carried out at once. You and your traveling party may rest for the week, but this quest must be completed before the turn of the winter solstice.”

The young knight shook his head negatively, “There will be no need for that; I travel alone. One night’s rest is but all I need and perhaps a day to gather my supplies and I will be on my way-”

Ser Philip looked at the eager knight wearily. “I understand that your skills come highly recommended, Ser Grant, but this is  _not_  a one man mission. You will be in need of a party with you that will assist you on your journey.”

Ser Ward looked as though he were to interject once more, when a clipped voice emerged from the shadows. “Have you heard of The Sea of Ice?” The young knight’s hand flew to the pommel of his sword at the voice and saw a beautiful woman completely fitted in a Royal Guard armor come to stand just behind Ser Philip. It was obvious that he had not known that she had been in the room all along. “The Forest of Sleepywood? Water Snake Swamp? Wolves’ Pass?”

“I have.” Ser Ward answered, his voice guarded. “What of them?”

She did not dignify the statement with a reply and simply gave the the young knight a pointed look, “You will need a company of four in total: one healer, a guide, preferably, and a squire.”

“And I politely decline your offer seeing as your concern is misplaced… my  _lady_?”

The woman’s eyes flashed brightly, as she evenly spoke, “I am no lady.”

Ward gave a weary look before continuing, “Regardless, I will again reiterate that there is no need-”

Ser Philip interjected before the conversation took a violent turn. “Whether you need them or not, please heed our advisement. Consider the others as your… reinforcement, Ser Grant. They may each offer you valuable insight which may be vital in the retrial of this item.”

The younger knight wanted to further protest the matter but the look that the woman in the corner was shooting him made him slightly apprehensive. “As you wish, ser.”

Satisfied with his compliance Ser Philip handed to him a small leather pouch. Ward opened it up and saw a good dozen or so gold coins jiggling in his palm. 

“That should be enough to get you there. And even though you will have to find the funds for your journey back on your own, there will be more where that came from upon your return.”

Ward eyebrows knit together in confusion as he looked up at the older man, “What is to stop me from running away with this bag alone?”

Ser Philip smiled that enigmatic smile of his once more. “I have no qualms about that.” When he saw Ward raise a doubtful eyebrow, he chuckled, “Let’s just say, I have a feeling that you will return with the job complete. Call it faith if you must.”

The younger knight slowly nodded. “Since you were the ones that suggested I complete this request with a  _team_ , might I ask where I will go about finding these other members of the party?”

“I would start with the apothecary across the street from the smithy on Steel Row. Ask for FitzSimmons. I believe you will find just what you are looking for there.” Ser Philip replied.

“And, Ser Grant?” Ser Philip waited until Ward turned around before making sure the younger knight knew how important the last part of the mission was. “I trust you will treat this quest with the utmost discretion.”

“You have my word, ser.” Ser Grant vowed. He inclined his head and made his departure.

Ser Philip turned to the female knight by his side and gave her an easy smile. “What is it, May?”

She did not say anything to his inquiry, simply stared at the now closed door with a sigh. Her normally placid expression now was clouded with what was akin to apprehension.

He came to stand in front of her and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “Fear not, my friend, all will be well. You have my word.”

May turned to look into his eyes and saw the sincerity shine from there and felt her warring heart calm.

If he said that all will be well, then it will be just that. Philip always had a way of molding the world to his will.  

* * * * * *

The next morning, during the short trek to the smithy on Steel Row from the inn, Ward allowed his feet to do the navigating while he engaged his mind to a heated debate. He had never been good at keeping companions, especially when he had a job to finish. Bringing three extra people along will only slow him down, not to mention that will be three additional mouths to feed. Hunting had never been an issue in the past but with the unfamiliar terrain, he wasn’t sure how much of the local game will be enough.

Ward felt for the leather pouch of gold coins in his trouser pocket.

_Then there was the issue of the reward_. He thought forlornly.

Ser Philip had promised him double what he had already been paid for his journey and Ward had told himself that this was to be his final quest. This reward would be enough his younger brother start a life out in the country with his beloved. It would make for a handsome wedding present, Ward had told himself. It would also take John as far away from the city as possible. The the cramped, overcrowded, filthy city of the capital held nothing but painful memories for both his brother and himself. This was no place to raise a family.

_Yes_ , he had thought,  _somewhere far, far away, will do nicely. Somewhere where_ _ **he**_ _could not terrorize them any longer… even in memory._

It wasn’t until someone bumped into him did Ward realize he had already walked right past the apothecary and taken a turn down into Thieves Alley, the sound of the smith’s hammer falling heavily in the distance background.

He took in his surroundings with a careful eye tracking the beggars, orphans, street urchins, and hooded figures lurking in the corners of the dark shops and nearly ran into a busty woman in a very revealing outfit.

The woman grinned as though she were a predator who had caught sight of her morning prey.

“Why settle for just looking, handsome?” The woman purred. “I can promise you a night you will never forget.”

Despite the warnings of dread that rang in his head, Ward felt himself being drawn in by the timbre of her voice. Something bewitching about the way her breath smelled as she leaned in. It was unnaturally sweet, especially, when it intermingled with the arid scent of urine, sweat, and grime, he felt his mind began to fog as her lips reached up towards his.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Like a bell that chimed loud and clear, her voice broke through the haze. He whipped his head around and saw a young woman in dark robes standing on the corner.

“That’s Lorelai, there,” She said, standing awkwardly, smiling at the scene not in a mocking fashion but something more akin to pride; as though she were patting herself on the back for figuring something out. “And she uses a very special type of lip-rouge to lure her customers. I finally solved the mystery of it just a fortnight ago. It’s made from a very special blend of nightlock berries, isn’t Lorelai? One kiss an Ser Grant there would be out until tomorrow where in which  _she_  would have already robbed you blind of your fortunes and your dignity.”

“Take your voodoo talk elsewhere, hag! This one is marked.” Lorelai hissed.

Ward took a step back and firmly said, “Thank you but I am not interested in your company.”

Lorelai looked as though she was about to attack Ward when a group of warriors from a neighboring country - their banners held aloft by a young squire - came strolling up the street. At the head of the group, a very sharply dressed female fighter with long dark locks and a large broad sword strapped across her back.

She locked eyes with Lorelai and began shouting for the guards with her to capture the temptress. Lorelai cursed under her breath and sent Ward’s savior a final glare. “Don’t let me see your face around here again, you  _witch_! Else you would like me to be the last thing you ever see.”

“ _Lorelai_! Halt this instant!” The female warrior shouted through the crowd and pushed pass Ward and the woman on the corner. Once the chase rounded the corner and the commotion died down, Grant turned back to the woman next to him and offered his thanks.

“No thanks needed. I’m assuming you’re Ser Grant, yes? That crest on your shield of a grey eagle is the sigil for the knights of his majesty’s secret guard, yes? I was informed by Ser Philip that you will be bringing myself and my friend a quest. I saw you walk right past me so I followed you from the apothecary. Figured you had simply lost your way and needed some assistance getting back, but you have very  _long_  stride, good ser -  _much_  longer than my own - and before I knew it Lorelai nearly had her clutches in you.”

Ward tried to process the flood of information that spewed forth from the lips of the very petite woman in front of him but missed most of it as they walked into the brightly lit apothecary. There were vials and bottles of all shapes and sizes that lined the back wall on shelves next to rows and rows of books. There was a long table in the center of the shop with liquids of a variety both in color and texture, some bubbling others smoking and, one even, on fire. Ward cautiously took a step away from the table when the sight of a relative small mountain of what looked to be smoldering ash that sat in the corner of the shop near the back door. He was just the process of asking what that was when the door in question flew open and came stumbling in was a young man around the woman’s age. He was entirely robed from head to toe with thick gloves over his hands which was cradling a small metal object. 

"Simmons! You will never believe-" The young man froze in his spot when he spotted Ward standing statuesque near the entrance of the shop, wearing a befuddled look. “Oh, you have a customer. I’ll come back later-“ 

"Ah, Fitz! You’re just in time. This is the knight I was telling you about earlier." she chirped before looking down at the object in Fitz’s hands. "Is that the miniature canon you’ve been working on?" 

The young man beamed. “That it is! You  _must_ come to the field for its first trial run - wait, what do you mean knight?” He looked up at the shop owner then at Ward and then back.

"Wait…  _you’re_ FitzSimmons?” Ward asked.

"Fitz" Simmons pointed at her friend happily.

"Simmons." Fitz supplied after the fact, having assumed that Ward had already been introduced to the woman. 

"Good. Now that we’ve gotten the introductions out of the way, you can add one more person to your company." 

A voice from behind Ward startled to tall knight to fall back into a defensive position, his hand at the pommel of his sword. 

Ser Philip and someone in a dark robe and a hood concealing their face from sight. “This here is Skye. She was arrested on multiple occasions but upon speaking to her myself-“

"And by speaking, you actually mean interrogating me in a cell where I am sure a great many limbs have been lost in." Came the voice of a young woman. She pushed the hood back from her face to reveal a pretty young girl with a glint of mischief in her eyes. 

Ser Philip calmly explained, “It was the backroom of a butcher. The only things that have lost limbs in that room have been livestock. Besides, you were withholding valuable information that could have shaken the very foundations of this great nation. I was only doing what was necessary.” Ser Philip explained. “And as you have witnessed first hand, we did not actually harm you even though you are currently in possession of Ser Grant’s purse.”

Ward’s hand flew to his side and it was as Ser Philip had said, the pouch which he had been given yesterday had disappeared from his side. 

"Now, if you would please hand back what is not yours…" Ser Philip commanded softly. 

With a grimace, she dug out a familiar leather sack and handed it back to Ward. 

"Including the vials you took from Simmon’s stores." 

The young woman pouted and pulled out three small vials of swirling green and clear liquids and placed them back on the shelf next to her with a soft click. Ward did not want to even ask what those did.

"Very good. Now, during our talks, Skye informed me of her extensive knowledge of the area with which you all will be travelling through. Thus, she will be your guide on this quest."

"Beg your pardon, Ser Philip," Fitz interjected, ”but I did not - I  _was_ not informed of a quest. I was under the impression that we would be working in the royal keep which would imply a more…  _secure_ nature to our positions in the royal guard.”

Ser Philip tilted his head slightly, “And I was under the impression that Simmons had informed you of the mission that had been hand selected by the war council, with you as part of the company.”

The woman in question stepped forward lightly with a small wrinkle in her nose. “I was  _just_ about to break the news to him but he was so caught up on his latest side project for his majesty that I did not have to heart to detract his attention. Besides, it’s all out in the open now, so we all might as well just be on our way now-“

"Simmons… might I have a word?" Fitz pulled her aside and turned around to make sure the others were giving them a little privacy before he whispered harshly, "You are not  _seriously_ considering this… this… rough-hewn, surly rag-tag travelling minstrel which will probably end in certain death? Why can we not just stay in the city where it’s safe and familiar and  _stationary_?”

Simmons blinked at her friend in abject confusion, “Why would we want that when we could see the world?” There was a finality to her words (despite its inquisitive nature) that left Fitz’s scrambling to protest but only left him opening and closing his mouth fruitlessly. Which Simmons then took as compliance.

"Oh, Fitz! I knew you would agree to this eventually! It’ll be exciting! You’ll see." She quickly hugged him and turned back to her large sack on the floor.

Fitz threw his hands up in the air in defeat. “Right then… I suppose that face means I am going with her whether I want to or not. Fear not, I will be of much assistance to you… all." He mumbled waving his hand with the miniature canon haphazardly about. Simmons grasped the weapon and chuckled nervously as Fitz came to realize how dangerous his unconscious gesture was and planted his hands firmly at his side. “I will not fail you, Ser Philip.” 

The older knight smiled warmly. “I was hoping you would say that.” 

At the look of apprehension (which Ward felt was going to be a permanent fixture on his face whence dealing with this trio) Simmons took it upon herself to reassure him as she gathered the rest of her items for the journey into her rucksack. “Fitz is truly a genius when it comes to making something out of nothing.” The young herbalist insists before realizing what she was suggesting and soon found herself stammering to clarify the statement. “That is, he’s a master with his hands. I mean- oh,  _bother_! Never mind.” Simmons heaved her large bag over her shoulders and faced Ward trying her best to push down the blush that was fighting it’s way up her cheeks. “So, are you excited to be coming on this journey into mystery, Ser Grant?”

Ward looked around at the three people he will soon be responsible for as they make their way towards the edges of the realm. A criminal, a potions brewing witch, and an explosives expert. Three people who did not know how to hunt, how to defend themselves in a fight, how to effectively engage a combatant, nor do any of them know what exactly they were searching for as they all embark into territories filled with danger, terrors beyond his imaginings, and, quite assuredly, certain death.

"Yes," Ward grunted, "I cannot image what could possibly go wrong."

Ser Philip nodded. “Have a little faith, Ser Grant. All will be well.” 

He handed Skye a coin printed with an eagle on one side of it (the other side bore runes in an ancient language she could not read) and made sure she understood that it was not currency which she should give away lightly. “You are now  _all_  on this very covert ranging mission in the name of his royal majesty. Use the coins wisely. It would be to your advantage to be as discreet as possible during your journey North. I wish you luck. When you reach Gerion’s Pass, send a dove to the capital with a message of your progress. We will be in touch. Safe travels.”


	7. No where else to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "Maybe this isn't the best time."

Jemma crept closer to the holding cell they were keeping Ward in and waved to Trip to leave them - which he did eventually after a bit of resistance. He would probably be worried for her safety but Jemma’s mind was far from her personal well being at the moment.

She was staring at the shadow that had grown on Grant’s face - a small detail of him not being able to shave being locked away without proper amenities - and had to discretely (or not) squeeze her legs together at the thought of his bread scratching at the insides of her thighs.

Ward looked up at her before his eyes zoomed in at the apex of her legs and she felt herself grow increasingly hotter by the moment. Perhaps right now wasn’t the best time to have thoughts about a prisoner going down on you but - as she stated before - it’s important when in the field to unwind from time to time.

~~ And he hadn’t anywhere else to be.  ~~


	8. Starlit Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Ward x Simmons Summer (WSS) Prompt: _Dream_

"Have you ever had a lucid dream?"

One of the many things Ward found irritating about being locked up (besides the whole not being able to ever leave) was that his main guard, Larry, was a talker. He would yabber on and on and on, sometimes to the other guard who was on duty with him, sometimes to Ward when no one else was around. 

Today, the topic of the conversation was ‘ _strange things that happen when Larry sleeps_ ’. 

"I would get these dreams where I’m completely aware that I am dreamin’, right, but I can’t really do anythin’ ‘bout them, ya know? I would be like ‘ _hey what are those kids doing on mah lawn?_ ' and if I were awake and I had control over my faculties and whatnot,  I woulda' totally yell at them to get off mah lawn. But in the dream, I'd just sit there and I can't do anything about how the kids would run all around on my freshly cut grass. They would be kickin' and stompin' on the missus' prized petunias. And I'd be there, just starin' at them like everythin' was right as rain. Have you ever seen blue petunias? Aw, my missus' blue petunias are the…”

Larry would go on for hours like that. Ward would sometimes drown him out as white noise but every once in awhile some of what Larry would say to him, would stick. 

That night, Ward was very aware that he was dreaming. 

It was his favorite dream that night. The one that was both a hell to relive and a blessing. 

And  _she_  was there. 

His favorite dreams always featured her. This one though was them on a hill overlooking an open field to their right and a shimmering lake to their left. There was a light breeze in the air, tousling her light brown hair that had come loose from her ponytail. The stars that twinkle overhead were nothing compared to the way her eyes alight at a new constellation she pointed out to him. He would be cutting apples with the paring knife in his hand and feeding her the freshly peeled fruit. She would tell him about the distances of the closest solar system to Earth and how she truly hoped that maybe in her lifetime, interstellar travel will actually be possible. Her hopes and dreams and aspirations would be his lullaby as he laid his head in her lap, her fingers weave themselves into his hair (which had grown out since he’s been taken in).

 _Future_. The word itself meant uncertainty and instability. But it also meant hope and a chance for change. 

Like clockwork, Jemma ( _it was always Jemma in his dreams, never Simmons - Simmons existed in a reality that he would rather never return to_ ) would always look down at him and ask if he would come along with her.

"What like Star Trek?" 

She would wrinkle her nose in the most adorable way before mumbling sheepishly, “Well, I was thinking more like the Doctor and his companion but yes, I suppose that would do as well.”

"I don’t care in what capacity as long as I’m with you." 

She would smile then, a brilliant smile with the stars shining behind her and the moon… oh, the moon’s brightness could not even compare to the glorious rapture that her smile evokes.

He knew what was coming now. He would reach up to kiss her and as if not even in his dream he was allowed to hold her. She would always slip through his fingers like the wind that blows across the grassy field to his right and the lake to his left.

Grant tried to hold on to the moment and hold on to her, try to lucidly will his dream to grip the moment forever. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry and that he could change and that he will do everything in his power to make things right. 

But he would always blink and she would be gone, only the faint scent of apples and her fabric softener would linger in the wind as he would wake up with a start. 

His eyes would sting as he rose to an empty cell, as empty as the gaping hole in his chest and the future which he will never have. 


	9. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted on Tumblr: "Sleep" for Biospecialist

[     _He wants to say I love you_  
 _but keeps it to goodnight_  
 _because love will mean   some _ _falling  _  
 _and she’s afraid of heights._    ] 

 

 

It was around the time that everyone had gone to bed and the words on his report had began swimming in front of his eyes that Ward decided it was probably time to pack it in for the night.

He debated about going straight to bed but he had skipped his morning workout and was now even more restless physically from the Berserker staff than he cared to admit. So he decided to go down to the cargo bay area when the soft glow from the lab caught his attention. He didn’t have to look in to know who it was.

Since her heroic jump from the Bus months ago, she hasn’t slept very well. And who could blame her really? Ward had not been lying when he said that what she did was very brave. It was stupid but courageous nonetheless. It was reckless, self-endangering stunts like that that she would constantly scolded him about but whenever it came to the safety of the team, she would do it without even questioning. She had good instincts and very little thought of self-preservation that made her so extraordinary. Like with the Chitauri virus, like with the modified night-night bomb on the train. “ _So completely and utterly selfless._ " He thought at the sight of her passed out at the table, test results shewn across the counter top, her head turned away from him.

How could someone like her even exists? Ward had spent the better portion of the last 100 days closely studying Simmons, making sure that she was alright for one thing but also just to figure her out. What made her tick, what made her so good, what drove her, what the scent of that intoxicating shampoo of hers was. Also to wonder if he was different if he would have pursued her like the love sick pup he tried to stave off even now. 

Ward couldn’t tell when it happened. It seemed like it occurred seemingly overnight when he was asleep, waking up one morning utterly and completely smitten for their resident biochemist. Yet in actuality, his feelings for her was a classic slow burn.

The first few days after her impromptu skydiving session, in the dead of night, her strangled chokes and sobs could be heard muffled by the thin walls their bunks on the Bus. Each night, it was either Fitz or Skye who would be the one to knock on her door, their voices of comfort could permeate even the very solid wall. Ward would be roused too but he could not bring himself to leave his bed. What could he offer someone who was so different as him? He was just as damaged as she was, arguably more so but who was keeping count?

Lately she had taken to staying up until she was too damn tired to not sleep and then fall asleep in the lab, just like tonight. Ward watched as a chill caused her to shiver in her seat. Taking off his leather jacket, he placed in as softly as he could over her shoulders. Simmons snuggled into the warmth, pulling the jacket closer in on herself as she turned her head towards him. Grant couldn’t help but smile when he saw the imprint of her watch on the side of her cheek. She looked absolutely adorable but he refrained from pushing her hair back and nuzzle the soft skin of her neck. Instead, he sauntered out of the lab and got ready for his workout.

Despite not being capable of offering words of comfort to her or holding her when she woke from a nightmare, he would do everything in his power to always be there to catch her when she fell. That was something he could do. Even if it meant having him fall in her place.


	10. Murphy's Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally prompted on Tumblr: [Combine these two prompts into one drabble](http://sapphireglyphs.tumblr.com/post/94352428059/send-me-an-pairing-an-au-from-this-list-ill). lindewen's request for [ has to share a cab because there’s a thunderstorm ahead (and then gets stuck in ridiculous NY/LA traffic) ] and drjemmanugent's request for [ undercover ]

There’s a thing to be said about Murphy’s Law. There wasn’t any scientific proof behind this idea and yet, after a record 51 hours of no sleep, high stress, and a high profile assignment, Jemma was seriously contemplating the thought of hurling herself off the Queensboro Bridge, maybe there’s some validity behind the idea.

That is,  _if_  she can ever successfully hail a cab, so that she can pay that cab driver an obscene amount of money to drive off said bridge… in the pouring rain. 

As she stood on the curb of 55th in 4 inch leather boots (which were  _killing_ the circulation to her toes) she wanted to cry as taxi after taxi drove right past her. She had been standing in the rain for the past 15 minutes trying to get a cab from The St Regis hotel so that she could meet up with the team at the Quality Inn on 40th street. She may very well have lost one (possibly two) toes for this stupid undercover spy mission. 

With a rumbling stomach no less because she had eaten since lunch… yesterday. 

She let out a frustrated growl as yet another yellow cab whizzed right past her. Just because she got lucky during her first real undercover op, did not automatically mean that she was qualified to go on multiple operations. Alone!

To be honest, she lost count how many times she wanted to just walk away from this operations and tell Coulson she couldn’t nick Serge Obrovic’s cellphone but somehow all that coaching from Skye and even a little from Trip helped her clear the tiny voice in her head to shut up long enough to flirt her way through a conversation with the slimy Russian scientist. Her slight of hand could have been a lot smoother but what was important was that she got the phone. All she had to do now was get back to the hotel the team had turned into a makeshift base for the week, “butt dial” Serge’s wife, and pretend she was having relations with Serge in order to thwart his wife from getting on a plane to Belgrade tonight. Skye and May were Coulson’s first choice to go in and get the job done but they were in Moscow following a lead on a Hydra strong hold that Skye stumbled upon the previous week… so that left Jemma. 

In the pouring rain. Exhausted beyond compare. In shoes which she was dying to take off. And starving. 

Finally, when she was about to give up hope and take the subway back across the river, a cab peeled away from the flow of traffic and stopped just ahead of her. Jemma nearly rejoiced to the heavens, as she ran forward trying her best not to slip on the sidewalk as she threw the door open before someone else took her cab. As she slid in and even before she could even tell the cabbie where to go, she peeled off those godforsaken boots. 

Just as she was about to hand the driver the address to the hotel, the other door across from her flew open and a man leapt in, his coat drenching the leather seat. 

"Oh, bloody hell!" Jemma was in outrage. "Oye! This cab is taken, mister! I would appreciate it if you wou-"

"Simmons?"

It was the voice that haunted her nights for weeks after plummeting from the Bus in that metal container. That had been nearly a year ago. 

Jemma debated weather she should get out of the cab and just get another cab whist carrying her stupid shoes or if she could just grit her teeth and share the cab with  _him._

_“_ Ward.” The ice that dripped from her tone was enough to freeze the rain that was pouring outside. 

Yet, as much as she wanted to hate him with the fiery passion of a thousand suns though, she was just too damn tired to care. But at least he had at least the decency to look ashamed in her presence. 

It was exhausting being that mad all the time and she found that as time passed she had come to accept his betrayal as though it were but another fact of history. It become easier to deal with the guilt of not hating him with ever fiber of her being when Fitz regain consciousness, and easier even more when he was able to slowly get back to work. He takes it easy nowadays but still doing good and very important work. 

Frankly Jemma was just happy he wasn’t dead… or broken beyond repair. Granted, he wasn’t “firing on all cylinders”, as he likes to call it, but the damage could have been a lot worse. And for that she was grateful… but seeing Ward again for the first time since then, Jemma was caught completely off guard. 

"What are you doing here?" She snapped at him.  

She knew that he was doing freelance consulting work for Coulson but he was suppose to be under strict supervision. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Don’t worry, ankle bracelet is still activated.” he pulled up the cuff of his pants and Jemma immediately recognized the silver and black device that Fitz had recently perfected. It was programmed to send out a pulse of electroshock if the subject steps out of the radius of their allowance. He pulled his pants leg back down as he murmured, “I’m doing recon work for Coulson. I’m suppose to meet up with him later tonight outside a hotel on 40th.”

Jemma closed her eyes and silently cursed her bad luck. “I’m headed there right now. We might as well split the cab.” She said begrudgingly. 

Ward simply nodded and told the driver the destination. The driver nodded and then drawled in a thick Brooklyn accent, “I hope you kids aren’t in a rush, cuz we’re goin be here awhile.” Once he placed on his headphones, he put the car in drive and didn’t speak another word to them. 

The cab pulled away from the curb and immediately they were stuck in the most insane traffic Jemma had ever seen. They were going to be locked in a cab for the next how ever many grueling minutes crawling their way up 55th Street in suffocating, awkward silence. 

_This day just gets better and better_ , Jemma bemoaned as she stared out her window. 

 

* * *

 

Nearly an hour later, they had only gotten to 1st Ave. when Jemma got a call from Coulson. 

"Simmons? Where are you? Did you get the phone?"

"Yes, sir. The phone been retrieved but I am currently stuck in the most horrendous traffic I have ever witnessed in my life." Jemma said tapping her short, clipped nails on the metal handle of her umbrella. 

"You’re not going to make it back here on time. Her flight plans has moved up. She is on her way to JFK International as we speak. We need to make the phone call now.” 

Jemma tried not to panic as she slowly started watching their plan fall apart in front of her. Soon Irena Obrovic will board that plane and be on her way to fund an entire new batch of research labs for Hydra. She thinks about how long Coulson had planned his op and was truly hoping that Jemma could pull through for him. She felt as though she failed the entire team… the world even! 

"Simmons?" Coulson’s voice filtered through the speaker, which snapped her out of her spiraling anxiety. “Simmons, are you there? This needs to happen now! Can you make that phone call happen?”

The desperation that slipped into his normal commanding voice made Jemma steel her resolve and answer him back, “Yes. Consider it done, sir.”

"Good." 

Jemma brought the phone away from her ear and sighed deeply wondering how she was going to pull this off. She nearly jumped out of her seat when she felt a hand fall on her shoulders. She snapped up and looked over towards Ward who had spent the last hour in absolute silence right next to her. He lowered his hand sheepishly once he got her attention and asked, “How can I help? Would you like me to make the call for you?”

Jemma’s face began to heat up. “It’s not that type of phone call…” Her voice tapered off as a thought came to her. She wanted to scream in frustration but realized that she had no choice and she was out of time. “Okay… I am going to tell you the plan. Any funny business and I will literally kick you from this cab. Are we clear?”

 

* * *

 

Ward sat up a little straighter in his seat and nodded. Just the thought of what the mission required of her made him very nervous. He genuinely wanted the team to succeed in bringing down Hydra so that he could truly begin his journey of redemption but having to make out with Simmons in a New York cab seemed rather… nerve wrecking for her and for him. Despite this being her idea, Grant was 100% sure that she was not okay with this and he may be a killer but a rapist was not a title he wanted to be associated with. 

He knew that it was his duty to serve the cause in whatever way he can, so as he went into specialist mode, he just hoped that she would forgive him for this afterwards. 

Simmons filled Ward in on with the plan and once all the details were hashed out, ex-specialist nodded. “I met the guy twice in the past; I know how he speaks to his girls. I can probably say enough in Russian to get us by.”

He watched as Jemma nodded. “That’s good. With the phone muffled, we should be able to distort your voice enough to sound like his. We just need to plant the seed of adultry in Irena’s mind.” Grant looked over at the driver and saw that his music was blasting from his headphones. 

As he turned back to Jemma, he watched as she pulled out Serge’s phone from her pocket. He took the phone in hand as she blew out a nervous breath. 

Against his better judgment, Grant gently placed his fingers atop her hand and had to hide his wince when she jumped. “Hey… Simmons? Look at me.” When she finally looked up at him, he spoke as softly as he could, “If you want stop, just tell me okay. I promise you I will pull away the second you tell me to stop.”

Her hazel eyes searched his, as if she were gauging whether he was lying to her again. She must have seen the sincerity that shown in his gaze because she simply nodded and turned her body towards him. “Okay… just try to relax. Don’t force anything, just let yourself go and do whatever comes naturally.” 

He watched her swallow thickly before she muttered, “Running away would be a natural thing to do in this situation…” She awkwardly took his hand in hers and gnawed at her bottom lip. 

"You won’t get far in those boots though." Grant gestured to the discarded footwear on the floor of the cab. 

Jemma let out a breath of laughter as her eyelids grew heavy and her lips hovered over his, electrifying his skin with anticipation, so close he could almost taste her.

His nose brushed against hers as her lips ghosted over his. The subtle movements repeated themselves, a touch here, a graze there, soft and gentle and so restrained it made his chest ache. Only the lightest of pressures, the barest touches as her breath grew heavier against his skin and his pulse pounded through his head.

The phantom sensations caught at his imagination and sent it spinning. She moved smoothly and gracefully, her finely parted lips bushing his skin, her cheek skating past, exciting his nerves until they grew raw. He held himself from lunging forward and just pulling her to his body. To not claim her mouth fully as he held her, quickly became difficult with every passing tremor from her nearness.

He reached for her cautiously, hesitating before he swept his fingertips over the curve of her cheek. Grant quietly smirked as he felt a shiver course through her at the tingling sensations his fingers left as they trailed up to her ear. Callous fingers ran down the column of her throat, rasped softly against soft, milky skin arching eagerly to give him better access, as though she allowed him to feel more without the need to break any unspoken rules - rules fragile as crystal that would be shattered as easily as the moment. She pressed her hand to his chest, as though teetering between to hold him away and holding onto him. 

She twisted smoothly, her effortless movements in such contrast with his struggle to contain the urges of his every muscle that for a heartbeat he didn’t know what she was doing. She settled over him, light on his lap, as she rested her weight on her knees, and edged closer while still holding back. Their joined hands stayed firmly planted against the worn leather seat of the cab, hers were traveling only to swivel as she turned, moving to slip a few more twitching fingers over his own.

Jemma gazed into his face with clouded eyes, and he let every breathy inhale of hers, every brush of her chest against his, wound him tighter. It heated his veins and wore down against his weakened restrain. A moan rumbled from deep in his chest as she dragged her lower lip along his jaw line, tickling at his slight stubble with a feather light touch and hot, damp breath. He swallowed thickly, and his fingers twitched on the call button of Obrovic’s cellphone, and his eyes rolled closed, and he rested his free hand carefully against the back of her neck where he threaded his fingers through her dampened honey, brown hair. She ran a thin hand up his chest, fingering the seams on his leather jacket, and making him wish more than anything in the world that he wasn’t wearing it.

It took a surge of courage, one that terrified him more than he ever thought was possible of something so simple. And in his fear he held his breath as he lifted his hand from the seat next to them, and slowly so as not to startle her, and gently so their one firm connection wouldn’t be lost, he guided their hands to her hip, where he held her – really, unwavering  _held her_  – where he let his hand spread over her, let her fill his palm and seep into his fingers. And the whole time she held her hand to his, as though she were the one guiding them. A silent urge; a silent permission to this act and to want this. To want him.

She was the one to crumble first. To break free of the suspended, nameless emotions they had drawn up around themselves. Blood was pumping in his ear so loud, he was sure that if she didn’t do something soon his heart might have gave out.

He flinched when her hand ripped free from his own, fear and panic seeping into his chest. But it was short lived as she grabbed the back of his head and pulled him close, pressing herself so firmly against him, she threatened to melt into his chest. She squeezed him between her thighs and threw an arm around his neck and sealed her lips over his in a hungry, yearning kiss.

He gripped her tight and reveled in the weight of her, in the feel of her every curve pressed flush against him, in the heat of her desire. All the strain that had mounted within him found focus like a bright, white light as he devoured her lips.

He tangled his fist in her hair, as moans began to fill the cab, the muscles in his arm flexed as he wrapped it firmly around her waist as the other explored the curves of her body. This freed her hand to clasp his face and grope in his hair in a frantic attempt to deepen a kiss that was sure to bruise the soft skin of her lips. 

"Serge…" Jemma hummed just loud enough for Grant to remember the objective of this make-out session (which was  _not_  for him to enjoy). 

He pulled back just slightly to run his lips over the curve of her neck, he peaked over to the phone to see that the other end of the line had picked up for close to a minute now. Through the haze of desire, Grant whispered against Jemma’s heated skin, “Does that feel good,  _moya dorogaya_? Such a pretty thing, you are,  _lyubov’ moya_.” He drawled in a thick Russian accent. 

He felt himself groan unconsciously as he heard her breathy gasp, as she squirmed in his lap and sweeping her head backwards in a moan so enticingly restrained that the sight ate at him. It burned the embers in his belly as he buried his face in the curve of her neck to breathe her in and nuzzle against her with that same frustrating softness that whispered  _more, more_...  _more!_

Grant tore himself away as he felt the phone vibrate in his hand. Gazing down at the device, he saw that the other end of the line had hung up and slowly pulled away from Jemma, even though his body was screaming for him to continue. 

She breathed a heavy sigh as she braced herself against chest. Look up at him nervously, Jemma whispered, “Did it work?”

Grant looked at her, taking in her disheveled look and had to will himself not to surge forward and capture her perfectly swollen lips between his teeth. Her eyes were dark with lust. A flush had spread across her face and her chest was still heaving. He imagined he was in the same state, right down to the tousled hair and the desperate expression. “I’m not sure, but I think it worked.”

Jemma nodded slowly as she gingerly climbed off his lap and onto her side of the cab. She busied herself with fixing her clothes and her hair while he began thinking about famine, the black plague, water-boarding, anything really that would get his mind off of the fact that the woman next to him was the first person he had kissed in forever. And to think that she did not truly desire him as her cover had required her to, made the curling heat in his stomach freeze over. 

He snuck a glance at her from the corner of his eye and saw a strand of hair had fallen over her smooth cheek and his fingers itched to push it back so that he could clearly see the blush on her skin. But he refrained. 

He did not have that right, he reminded himself. 

"I better call Coulson."Jemma murmured. She reached for her phone and made the call as Grant sat there and once again wished that things were different. 

"Thank you… by the way."

Grant turned to her and saw a ghost of a smile grace her beautiful face. “Thank you for assisting me in this assignment.”

He was caught off guard that he didn’t get a chance to answer when Coulson picked up and Jemma turned away to report that the call was complete. Grant felt his chest expand at the look of gratitude shine from her eyes. 

"And Ward?"

"Yeah?"

Jemma began to gnaw at her lip again. “Could you please just keep what happened between us? I don’t… I don’t want…”

Grant wiped the look of hurt from his eyes as he clenched his jaw and nodded, “Of course. What happened in this cab will not be disclosed to anyone.”

She heaved a sigh of relief. “Good. Thank you.”

Ward took a breath to steady his voice before he whispered, “Anytime.” 


	11. My Home is Where You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (from Tumblr) Prompt - "Kissing Booth" for [shineyma](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma).

"What time is it?" 

Jemma looked over her shoulder to see Grant squint at the clock on the table in his bunk to see the red digital numbers read 2:49 AM. 

“ _Late_. Just go back to sleep.” She leaned over peck him on the cheek before turning back to her notes. He winced - his bruise ribs were currently a lovely a shade of purple after the altercation with a couple of rebel separatist a few days ago - as he turned his body towards her warmth on the edge of the bed. He had just gotten back from a month long mission and simply wanted to hold with Jemma in his arms once again (and maybe engage in some other equally pleasurable activities). Instead, right after his debrief session with Coulson, he was informed that Jemma would be deployed for an undercover mission in less that 48 hours. The brave - albeit slightly reckless - scientist will going into the field with minimal amounts of field training and stay in deep cover for 10 days until her extraction team came to bring her back home. To say that he was worried was a gross understatement. But after being reassured numerous times by Coulson and then Jemma herself, Ward was pacified enough that he wouldn’t shadow her during her mission with a hand-picked strike team combat ready to attack on his word.

Instead, of spending their last precious hours together though, Jemma had decided to forgo sleep in place of studying her extensive notes about her cover. And yes, Grant realizes he may be a bit selfish for wanting her all to himself but after the ordeal in Burma he just got back from, was it truly too much to ask for him to spend just one peaceful night in the arms of the woman he ( _loved_? - they haven’t actually introduced the word into colloquial speech yet but maybe this might not be the best time to bring it up) cared very deeply for?

"You should too. You know how you get when you…  _over_  prepare.” Grant mumbled against her shoulder, too clouded by the fog of sleep that was taking its time to dissipate from his mind, incapacitating his ability to ‘words’ (as Skye liked to refer to it when he dragged her out of bed at 5 am for training). 

"Darling, there is no such thing as being too prepared. They don’t just  _give_ girl scout “preparedness patches” willy-nilly. You have to earn it.” Jemma mused absentmindedly as she made small notes in the margins of her packet. 

Grant peered over her shoulder and furrowed his eyebrows. “Is it really necessary to know the exact shade of green the wallpaper was for your cover’s childhood room?” 

Jemma rolled her eyes as though he were inquiring about the most basic of human knowledge. “Of course it is. The colors we associate with as children shape the way we as an adult relate to that color. Certain colors evoke certain emotions. And if I walk into an office with the same exact shade, it should trigger a neurological-“

"As fascinating as I know that kernel of knowledge was about to be, might I suggest something?" Grant asked as he rubbed circles into her tense back muscles. "I, of all people, understand the importance of prepping for a mission but maybe what you need are some practical applications of your knowledge?" Grant offered. Jemma contemplated the thought for a moment before she acquiesced and nodded, signalling for him to continue his pitch. "We can run some scenarios… maybe get you into the mind set of your cover so you won’t be so nervous?"

Jemma looked over her shoulder at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes that sent a thrill down his spine. “You mean like… role playing?”

Grant bit down hard at the inside of his cheek before he shrugged, feigning complete and utter disinterest at the thought of having Jemma role playing for entirely not so innocent reasons. “Sure, you can think of it that way.”

The petite biochemist grinned as she swiveled around to face her new teacher and shot him a look of curiosity. “Alright. What do you have in mind?”

Grant coolly leaned back against the propped up pillows and said, “One of the things that you have to remember when doing deep cover is to react as your cover would under those circumstances. Adapting is key to your cover’s survival  _but_  never forget the objective of the mission.

"That being said, I’ll set up a scenario, give you simple pointers along the way, but you are to stay in character through and through until I say… uhm…" He paused a moment when Jemma lively interjected, "Oh  _Pluto_! Can we have the code word be  _Pluto_?” 

The suggestion was met with a raised eyebrow. “Uh… yeah, okay. Pluto.” Grant’s reaction had mirrored his inner thoughts: ‘ _Why Pluto?_ ’

In the end, he brushed it off as something typical that Jemma would suggest and asked her if she was ready. Jemma nodded, eager to put her knowledge to the test, and waited as Grant tapped his finger on his chin before he reached over to the drawer next to the bed and pulled out his pair of fake glasses. “Okay, so, I am your new employee at the lab that you will be working in. We meet in an elevator. This is your first day and you want to establish some type of normal, believable partnerships with at least one or two of your colleagues there. Got it? Now, don’t over think this. Your cover is a lot like who you really are with some very minor tweaks to your background so just do whatever feels natural.”

"Okay… do what feels natural… do what feels natural." She repeated the mantra under her breath as she sat up a little straighter and lightly shook her arms about to loosen the tension in her shoulders. Grant patiently waited for her to get into character and when she was finally ready, he slipped on his glasses. 

In a heartbeat, Grant Ward had left the room and in his place was someone entirely different. It was as if his whole body language changed: his posture slouched, he unconsciously rubbed at his ear lobe like it was some type of nervous tick, and it looked like he physically could not make eye contact with Jemma.

He waited. Not Grant but his character. Judging by his behavior, she assessed immediately that he wasn’t confident enough to do something assertive like initiate a conversation especially with someone who he didn’t know; even something as simple as saying “ _hi_ " first would be out of character for him. 

 _Well, they didn’t call him one of the best for nothing_ , Jemma thought fondly before she remembered that she had to be the one to engage with him first and cleared her throat. 

"Hello. Mariam Albright, I’m the new biochemist." She offered him her hand and a winning smile. She was met with a person who looked like Grant but his face was contorted into a look similar to that of a deer facing head on with a freight train. "And you?"

She watched him swallow thickly before he cleared his throat. Pointing at his imaginary badge, he mumbled, “Royd Booth. Research and development division.” 

Her eyes lit up. “Oh lovely! I’m joining your team today.” She chuckled nervously and twirled the curl of her hair, trying to make eye contact with him. “Boy, am I lucky to have ran into you? I am horrible with directions! It started out when I was a child and I was on my way back from the little girls room at a department store with my mum-“

Grant slowly held up her notes and saw that he had written the words: “ _Too much. Pull back._ ”

"Uhm… but that is not relevant. What I meant to say was that I hope you won’t mind if I just follow you to the department meeting since I have  _no_  idea where I am going. This place is like a maze!”

Back in character, Royd returned the smile nervously still not making eye contact with her but rather eyeing her shoulder or the top of her head. “Sure that’s fine…” he mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for Jemma to catch it. She smiled once again when he asked, “Where did you transfer in from?”

"Oh, I was a senior research partner at Cambridge University. My thesis was on the ability to make measurements of the biomolecular interactions that occur inside living cells which is essential for understanding complex biological processes." And then pinched herself in order to physically hold back the urge to also say that she had attended since 2008, graduated top of her class, and had a roommate named Yolanda who was a foreign exchange student from Yugoslavia with only nine fingers and a penchant for malt whiskey. 

Royd murmured that Ben (the company’s resident physicist) went to Oxford. “Studied cloaking, I believe. Supposedly he was the research team that created the first device that we know of that can do three-dimensional, continuously multi-directional cloaking, which works for transmitting rays in the visible spectrum.” And then pushed his glasses that slid down the bridge of his nose back up again before he peaked up at Jemma.

Jemma eyes widened not only at Grant’s knowledge behind the science of cloaking but that he could deliver it off the cuff, as though he truly understood what the information meant. But not only that, he also offered up information about the objective of her mission. Sure, on the real mission, it wasn’t going to be this easy ( _what were the chances that she was going to run into one of the few people who knew about exactly the information that she need?_ ) but Jemma suspects that this was for educational purposes. Trying her best to look interested but not too interested, she nodded and smiled openly, hoping to relax him enough to reveal more. “That… that is fascinating. It’s no wondered he got hired here then. Making a discovery like that could make millions of pounds-  _er_  dollars- for the company if the United States military were to hire the company as a private contractor. I am eager to meet Ben and talk to him about this device.”

Royd scoffed. “I doubt Ben actually knows anything about that. He claims that he helped to invent it but he’s been trying to replicate the model for years and he still hasn’t gotten any closer.” 

Jemma tilted her head to side at that. It was not very in character for Royd, a seemingly meek character with very little confidence himself, to speak out on a fellow colleague like that. Unless…

‘ _Oh, that’s very clever Grant…_ ' Jemma thought slyly. ' _Get me to believe that Royd is jealous of this Ben fellow because he’s actually very interested in the work. Well played._ ' 

Jemma shrugged lightly, “Well, I’m sure information like that is quite coveted. He’s probably just playing it close to the chest. Maybe he’s under a lot of stress?  _Maybe_ … we can help him out. You know…" Jemma thought of an idea and reached over and covered her hand over his. Royd tensed under her touch and Jemma found it quite sweet as he stared intently at her hand. "Lend him a hand? Aren’t you even the least bit curious, Royd?"

"Ben won’t like us being curious." murmured Royd, who could not tear his eyes away from her hand. 

"Well, he just needs the right… reasons to. Leave it to me." Jemma smiled reassuringly as she pulled back to watch Grant take his glasses off. 

"Pluto."

Jemma blinked. “What?”

"The scene is over… what’s the point in having a code word if you forget what it means?" 

Grant was back in the room and took Jemma a moment to get out of character. It was surprisingly easy to slip into her character despite all the pressure she had placed on herself prior to the scene. 

"Oh! Sorry… so? How did I do?" Jemma winced as Grant just smiled at her. 

"You did very well actually. Started off a little rocky but you got back on track in no time." The admiration he felt was easily shining through and Jemma allowed herself to bask in triumph for a brief moment before she put her skills to the test once more. She was a scientist after all and she never took the results of just one test as law. It could have just been a fluke… or beginner’s luck.  "Good… can we… can we do one more scene before bed though? Just to be sure."

Grant chuckled. “Having fun now, are we?”

Jemma pursed her lips. “Maybe a little…”

"Uh huh. Right. Just  _a little_ …” Grant teased. 

Jemma scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Well, if you’re going to be smug about it-“

"Nope. Not smug." Grant quickly rushed forward to assure her before he sets the scene. She runs into a co-worker at a carnival that was in town for the holiday weekend. "You ready?"

She nods and watched in rapt fascination as Grant cleaned the lens with the corner of his shirt before he slipped on his glasses and disappeared from the room, leaving behind a brand new character. 

"Hey!" The new guy pointed at Jemma and snapped his fingers, as he stumble to remember her name. "Wait… don’t tell me! It starts with a ‘ _M_ '… Mary? No! Miriam, right? It's Ben, from research and development. We met last Monday… talked on Friday?”

Again, his characteristics were completely different from Grant’s normal persona and Royd. Ben, as it were, was friendly and welcoming. Jemma tried to mask her surprise that they were building off of their last interaction (though, she had to admit that it this does simplify things) with a long drawn out and awkward laugh. “Ohhhhh haha… right!  _Ben_! Nice to see you again, old chap!”

Jemma assumed it was Grant who held up her notes again that read: “ _What?_ ”

Jemma shook it off though and rushed ahead. “So! What are you doing here?”

Ben, gave a sheepish grin before he admitted, “I am on break from working the Kissing Booth.”

That was unexpected. Jemma forced herself to focus. “Really?” As she watched him shyly nod, she narrowed her eyes and asked, “If you don’t mind me asking  _why_? Does the company not pay you enough?” 

Ben chuckled in response and Jemma couldn't help but get drawn in by that adorable smile of his. She wondered absentmindedly if Grant would smile more like that if he were doing some research job like Ben.

"No, no. Nothing like that." Ben rubbed the back of his neck as though he were embarrassed to admit the next part but slowly opened up that, "See, my niece is trying to earn her 49th and 50th girl scout patch this weekend. You know they don’t just  _give_ out Community Participation and CEO of cookies patches willy-nilly. You have to really earn them.” 

Jemma couldn't help but laugh. “So I've heard.”

"Yep, so, I've decided to volunteer my time so that she can get both of them and, at the same time, I would raised money to help fund the local youth center." Ben admitted.

"Wow… that is very generous of you." Jemma said, knowing full well that she was just stroking his ego. But if it effected him, Grant didn’t let it show on Ben’s face. Instead, he lightly swung his arms in front of him, miming that he was walking somewhere when he stopped. "Well, my shift is starting. Oh, Miriam! Would you like a kiss? It’s for a great cause." Ben asked her with a winning smile. 

Jemma chuckled nervously before an idea struck her. “How about this? I’ll pay for  _two_  sessions if you are willing to have lunch with me on Monday to discuss your little pet project we talked about on Friday.” Jemma prayed that it wasn’t too heavy handed and nearly jumped up and down when Grant didn’t make a grab for her notepad. 

Instead, Ben smiled and agreed to the terms. “You got yourself a deal.”

Jemma made a show of pulling out an imaginary bill and placing in Grant’s hand. “Whoa, Miriam! A ‘50’? I don’t know if we have change for this.”

The biochemist giggled before scooting closer and tracing her fingers around the rim of his glasses smirked, “Well… then you best make this worth my contribution then.”

She could feel her heart start to race, the sound of it flooding her ears and forcing the blood to rush to her face. _What would Miriam do? How would she kiss Ben - someone she just met? With a lead in like the one she just gave though she would have to just go for it, right?_  She licked her lips and dived in before her mind or body could fight her thoughts.

Jemma kissed him softly which he wholeheartedly embraced. His hand slipped to the back of her neck, fingers weaving into the auburn locks, cradling the back of her head.

Grant loved it when she kissed him, showed him that she wanted his attentions just as much as he always craved hers; however this was not the chaste or sweet teasing kiss that Miriam would have offered Ben. The kissed grew from the gentle press of her lips, to lightly suckling and then the slick flick of her tongue across his lip. Grant groaned as he allowed her entrance to his mouth. Her small wet tongue glided against his as her hands slid down the side of his face, across his neck and smoothed down his chest.

"Miriam," he whispered huskily as she pulled back to take a breath. Before he could say another word, pulled his glasses off his face.  In a husky whisper, Jemma purred, "Pluto."

This time, it was his turn to give her a dazed look before he realized what she said, “What? You want to stop kissing? I can assure you, you have  _not_  gotten your money’s worth yet.”

Jemma scoffed, “Of course I don’t want to stop. I just wanted to kiss Grant instead of Ben.” 

He chuckled at that. “Yeah, Miriam was nice but Jemma…” he closed his eyes, as though he were trying to savor a delicious dessert, and softly moaned his appreciation. “Jemma is perfect.” 

And she was, sitting there in her pajamas in a darkly lit room staring at him adoringly. She blushed a dark red but looking sinfully beautiful. Swollen wet lips, hazy honey colored eyes and flush cheeks highlighted by the soft glow from lamp on the nightstand. She was unabashedly intelligent, kind beyond measure, bitingly witty, and good to core. 

Ah, who was he kidding? He had fallen for her long before he placed the words to this growing feeling in his chest. 

"I love you, Jemma Simmons " he whispered to her. Jemma’s eyes widened slightly before her face split into a watery smile. 

"I…" she hesitated as she lost her voice to her overwhelming emotions. "I love you too, Grant Ward." She leaned down and kissed him right over his heart before leaning forward to capture his lips with hers once again.

A wonderful warmth filled her as Grant wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him. She felt safe, happy and loved. When they finally broke apart to gasp for air, she was granted that sweet caring smile she saw briefly when they were role playing and she returned with one of her own. This was right. And even though she was about to embark on a 10 day deep cover mission without Grant there to have her back, he had given her the tools to survive it. His faith in her and his love will be enough to get her home. 


	12. The Pie Fiasco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt** : “I trusted you!”  
>  **Rating** : T  
>  **Ship** : Ward x Simmons  
>  **Summary** : Skye + Pie = Sad Jemma. Grant to the rescue.  
>  **Word count** : 563 words  
>  **AN** : My sister brought back pie from Julian’s Pie Shop in San Diego and I felt the need to write about my undying love for this pie. This is  _PURE_  Crack and Fluff for your chilly January night. :D

"I trusted you." Jemma moaned dramatically as she stared at the empty plate once filled with a warm slice of strawberry apple crumb pie and a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Fitz and Skye were both trying to act as innocent as possible, which blatantly gave away the fact that they were anything but.

"You promised, Fitz! You promised that you would protect it for me!” Jemma said as she cradled the empty plate in her hand and stared sorrowfully at the single drop of melted ice cream run across the plastic.

"I’m so sorry, Simmons," Skye said, "Fitz was doing a really good job of guarding the pie for you but then Grant called him away and I was just so hungry and I was just going to take one bite…" Skye winced and then sighed in defeat, "but it was just so good and before I knew it… it was all gone." Skye shuffled up to Jemma and pouted. "I’ll make it up to you next time we go to Julian’s okay?"

Jemma’s face fell a bit but she knew Skye didn’t really mean it and nodded in agreement before turning to go mourn her pie in the lab by herself.

Later that evening, her stomach growled angrily and forced her up the steps to find some sustenance for her body when she saw Grant standing in the kitchen making food for himself. Too tired (and depressed) to greet him with her usual peppy enthusiasm, she shuffled to the stove and put a kettle on to maker herself some tea. 

"Hey," he greeted her. "You okay?"

"Yeah… just getting some tea." she replied as she leaned against the counter and crossed her arms across her chest, staring at the floor morosely. 

"You know what would go great with tea?" He asked conversely as he moved towards the microwave.

"Pie?" Jemma answered halfheartedly.

"Pie." Grant replied. She looked up and saw in his hand a generous slice of warm pie

She gasped, “Is that…?”

"A slice of Julian’s strawberry apple crumb pie? Why, yes. Yes it is." Grant supplied triumphantly. “Would you like some?”

Jemma beamed up at him. “I could kiss you right now!”

Grant chuckled, "If I’d known that was all it took, I would’ve bought every pie in that pie shop." She blushed prettily as he placed the plate with the dessert on the counter between them and she pulled out two forks for them.

Just as Grant scooped out a large helping of vanilla ice cream from the carton Jemma seized the opportunity and reach up to peck him on the cheek. 

In Grant’s line of work, he’s been kissed by gorgeous women, powerful women, beautiful women, hell even beautiful men. Yet none of them sent his heart racing quite like the sweet and innocent peck on the cheek by the tiny scientist who was currently devouring the slice of pie in front of her. She blinked up at him innocently and Grant had to urge to kiss away the small bit of pie filling that was smeared at the corner of her mouth. When her tongue darted out to lick across her lips, Grant had to turn away before he caused a scene right in the middle of the kitchen. 

He wonders if it would be wildly inappropriate to offer her the entire slice of pie so long as he could watch her eat it. 


End file.
